


Non-Compliance

by LittleSixx



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Avenger Sam Wilson, Bisexual Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes-centric, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Civil War (Marvel), Coda, Gen, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, POV Sam Wilson, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Russian Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson Feels, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-06-08 07:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6845050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSixx/pseuds/LittleSixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The memory wipes turned part of my brain into a smoothie. At least, that’s what if felt like.” The uncomfortable silence returned before he added, “Words took HYDRA decades, but it was helpful for everyone.”</p>
<p>“Even you?”</p>
<p>“Especially me.”</p>
<p>(AKA a coda fic where Sam learns Winter Soldier's words, Bucky trusts Sam, and there may or may not be eventual kissage.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Longing

**Author's Note:**

> Contains CA:CW spoilers.

“Can you move your seat up?”

Such an innocent question, but Sam bit back several replies.

_No, because you’re the only reason Steve’s in this mess._

_No, because you’re the only reason I’m in this mess._

_No, because the dozens of people you killed can’t move their seats._

_No, and I’m not a hundred percent sure you didn’t kill those UN people._

_No, because I need to stretch my legs after running around the world to find your ass._

_No, because that back seat is about the size of the cell you should be in._

“No.”

Barnes shifted to the middle seat, and both men kept their eyes on Steve’s conversation with Agent 13. Sam jostled a bit, uncomfortable in silence and unable to bite back a question.

“If they can take you from Barnes to Winter Soldier with a few words, why bother wiping your memory? Or why have the words?”

Barnes’s jaw clenched reflexively and he ground his teeth together before asking,

“You ever use a blender?”

“Yeah—“

“The memory wipes turned part of my brain into a smoothie. At least, that’s what if felt like.” The uncomfortable silence returned before he added, “Words took HYDRA decades, but it was helpful for everyone.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me.”

Silence.

“What’s the first word?” Sam asked. “Jill-on-yee”

“Longing,” Barnes admitted. “You fucked it up pretty bad, but …” Steve leaned in to kiss Sharon and Barnes sighed, “Longing.” Sam nodded his approval and asked,

“You love him?”

“Not like that,” Bucky nodded toward Steve and Sharon. “But yeah, I’ve loved him since we were kids. You’ve met him; you know what it’s like to see someone so good. Steve’s the reason God has faith in humanity. He’s the reason I have faith in people.

“People did this to me, but look at what he’s doing to fix it. Tell me you don’t look at him and see everything you wish you could be, knowing you never will be.”

As Steve slid into the driver’s seat, Sam said,

“Jill-awn-yee. I see that.”


	2. Rusted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no beta except Spellcheck and know absolutely no Russian. So if you are Russian or speak / read Russian, I apologize for what may be a very terrible attempt to recreate language. (Sam's got exactly the same level of knowledge I do.)

Sam Wilson sat in the corner of a Starbucks, one earbud in, laptop open to Google translate. He quickly input every variation of "our-savvy," even trying to tie in Russian letters. Nothing appeared before the orders came out.

Sam stuffed the laptop into his bag, frustrated. He walked to the beverage stand and asked the barista,

"Hey, you got one of those carrier things?"

Sam walked the block back to where Team Cap parked the van alongside the Stevemobile. Six drinks balanced in two carriers. He kicked the van door once, which slid open to reveal his fellow five. Sam handed Wanda the carriers and pulled out the drinks one-by-one.

"Okay, so you got what you got, take it or leave it. One iced coffee for Tic-Tac. One tall dark (and handsome) blonde for Cap. Strawberry smoothie for you, Robin Hood," Sam said, handing the chilly plastic cup to Clint. Iced English breakfast tea latte for Hermione. White chocolate mocha frappuccino for Elsa, and a grande Jamaican blue mountain roast for me," Sam smiled at the cup. "Nothing like good ol’ Jamaican blue."

"You should really clear out your search history on this thing," Barnes said from the backseat. Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"What’s that?" he asked.

"I said you should clear out your search history," Barnes repeated. Sam’s hand flew to his messenger bag. _Empty._

"Dammit!" he cursed. "How did you—Never mind. Nope. I don’t wanna know. Just drink your frappuccino."

.oOo.

Barnes handed Sam his laptop when they were back in the car. The discomforting silence was pretty well stasis on this journey. Sam still wasn’t sure where they were going, only that Steve needed him.

 _The price of freedom is high, and it’s a price I’m willing to pay_.

Instead of fighting Hydra or SHIELD, the Avengers were fighting the world for autonomy. He and Steve had argued about it during the drive.

"Should the Avengers be kept in check? By the UN? By anyone? Who?" Steve asked.

"Absolutely," Sam replied without hesitation. "It’s not about the UN sending the Avengers somewhere we don’t want to go. We have the upper hand, we hold the power. It doesn’t take much to say this isn’t our fight. Send us anywhere, it doesn’t mean we’re going to obey your will." Sam paused and slammed his fist on the dashboard. "It’s being kept out of somewhere we need to be that worries me, man. I know better than most, and you know damn well," Sam stole a glance back at Barnes, "that being unable to help save a life is the worst feeling. When it’s dozens or hundreds of lives … You can’t live with that. I can’t live with that. But the UN delegation would be more than able to sleep at night because the world isn’t asking ‘Where is the UN?’ They’re asking ‘Where are the Avengers?’"

Silence.

"It’s ржaвый," Bucky said.

"Hmm?" Steve asked.

"He wanted to know the second word. It’s ржaвый."

"Ar-z-ah-vee?" Sam asked.

"Close enough," Barnes replied, metal fingers curling into a fist. Sam backed off, scooting closer to the car door, fingers clutching the handle.

"I’m fine," Barnes assured him.

"Uh-huh."

"It means ‘rusted.’ The word, ржaвый, means ‘rusted.’ The first word—"

"Longing."

"—is to remind me of what I had. The second is to remind me they own me. My independence is gone," he scoffed. "As if I needed reminding."

"Buck, you don’t have to tell—" Steve interjected, though Bucky cut him off.

"No, he wants to know, so I’ll tell him." Barnes tilted his head to one side and smiled a little bit. "He’s wondering if I’m more James or Winter Soldier right now."

"Can you blame me?" Sam asked.

"I’m still trying to answer that question myself," Barnes admitted. "HYDRA owned my mind, but more importantly, they owned my arm. Where would I be without them? If I escaped, my arm would rust and I’d be a one-armed man decades out of his time."

"Not working out great so far," Steve muttered.

"I was doing fine, Steve. But you’ve been dragging me into messes like this for eighty years, so I’m not surprised," Barnes half-joked. Steve’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"Is there something else?" Sam asked. "HYDRA owns you, so without them, you’d be … ?"

"A dead man in a river."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and criticism always appreciated.


	3. Seventeen / Daybreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Russian is probably really screwy, and I apologize for that. Again, beta-ed by Spellcheck. I had to find gaps in the canon narrative to insert these scenes, so this one's right before the hangar fight.

"Seem-not-sit. It’s the last one I’ve got," Sam said. Barnes turned to face him as the others readied for battle, striding toward the airplane hangar. Hawkeye and Ant-Man turned to help, but Cap said,

"Leave ‘em. They’ll catch up."

"Семнадцать," Barnes said, quickly advancing on Sam until his back was against a pillar. Sam’s heart rate sped up and every synapse screamed "Flight!" But he did not allow his face to give away his fear. Didn’t matter, the Winter Soldier could probably smell it as his fleshed fingers wrapped around Sam’s throat.

"Why do you care about the words?" He slammed Sam’s head against the pillar. "What can they tell you?"

"You!" Sam croaked, using almost all his air. "About Steve!" Barnes let go of him and Sam stumbled forward, hands on his knees, trying desperately to catch his breath.

"What about Steve?" Barnes asked. Sam couldn’t answer, still doubled-over trying to breathe. "What about Steve?" he asked again, voice rising almost to a shout. Sam stood and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Whether he’s right, man," Sam finally replied.

"Right about what?"

"You, Snow Queen. Whether you’re worth this, whether you can be trusted. I’ve got my issues with the Accords, but are they enough to land me in whatever shithole I end up after this? No, but Cap is. My question is whether Steve Rogers is seeing clearly, and I don’t think he is."

"Steve understands what he’s asking you to do," Barnes said.

"Is that enough?" Sam asked.

"If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here."

_Silence._

There was a lot of that around Winter Soldier, but Sam doubted James Barnes had been that way. This was a product of HYDRA, a product of these words, and only these words. For the Winter Soldier, words meant control. Words were precious and not to be wasted. But looking at that face and imagining what those eyes must have been like seventy years earlier, Sam knew that James Barnes would have been a good flirt. 

"Seventeen," Barnes said, breaking Sam from his reverie. "Semnedstat is the number seventeen. Everyone has a number that keeps showing up in their life. I was born in nineteen-seventeen. I was winter soldier experiment number seventeen. But most importantly," he paused to take a shaky breath. Sam didn’t think he’d continue, but,

"Seventeen was my number of confirmed kills as Bucky. For years at the beginning, when I was lucid they would tell me they were not actually changing who I was. They were just making me better. ‘Bucky Barnes had killed people,’ they said. There was no arguing with them because I did. I killed people. When they asked, ‘Where does James end and the Winter Soldier begin?’ I did not have an answer."

"Steve thinks Winter Soldier is not you at all."

"Steve knows who I am," was all Barnes said in reply.

"So are they all random like that? Numbers and bad feelings? Why not use names or—"

"You don’t get it!" Barnes shouted. He lowered his voice to a disappointed whisper. "I thought you might understand, but you don’t. How could you?"

Sam laughed facetiously.

"The look in your eyes, Barnes, when you heard that first word, I have seen it a dozen times over. The fear, the trigger? I’ve felt it, man. I have been on that side and it is the most human thing about you. So tell me why—"

"Because names make you human. Happiness and goodness make you human. HYDRA wanted to make me a machine. Zhelaniye, rzhavvy, semnadtsat, rassvet—"

"Ross-vee-yet?"

"Daybreak," Barnes sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he continued. "The next word is Рассвет."

"So what is that then? What does it mean to you?" Sam asked, defaulting to counselor mode.

"Time." Barnes crossed his arms. "They controlled time. HYDRA told me when to wake up and when to sleep. There were times when daybreaks were two years apart for me. It is ownership, Falcon. They controlled me, my emotions, my environment—how do you overcome something when they control time?"

_Silence._

Sam held out his hand and said, 

"My name’s Sam Wilson."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and criticism are always appreciated.


	4. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fast and loose with canon here; still technically coda. My beta is Spellcheck. Apologies to any Russian readers / speakers.

Fighting is good. By some twist of fate or simple happenstance, Falcon and Winter Soldier ended up together inside the airport. They made a weirdly functional team, but Sam couldn’t dwell on it. The bug guy #2, spider kid or whatever he called himself, tried to stop their advance toward the Quinjet.

“Everybody’s got a gimmick,” Sam muttered, running alongside Winter Soldier. Suddenly, something slammed into his left side, causing him to fall hard into the wall on his right. As he shook his head, the mental fog lifted enough so he could see it was the baby arachnid in the onesie who was then throwing down with Snow Queen.

Sam’s protective instincts kicked in before the rest of his mental faculties, so (without thinking) Falcon flew full-force into Spider-Man. He dragged the kid halfway through the terminal before Spider-Man's webbing caught one of the rafters. Falcon aimed for him, but Spidey jumped away before the blast.

 _Dammit,_ Sam cursed internally. Not because he missed, but Winter Soldier had taken the lead on the ground. Bucky-- _Winter Soldier,_ Falcon corrected himself--hid behind a pillar, but Spider Man still nearly took his head off.

_Hell no!_

Falcon flew into Spidey’s blindside, forcing him almost to the ground before he once again worked his way back up to the ceiling. Falcon had to admit it was an alarmingly strange situation as the sky was generally home field for him. He didn’t have much time to contemplate it, as his left wing shut down. He glanced back to see webbing twined around it.

_Dammit!_

Falcon curled himself into a ball and closed his wings before slamming into a deserted magazine stand. Momentum propelled him almost to the edge and onto the floor below. For a moment, he stayed curled into himself two feet from the edge. But every moment counts in battle, and that moment cost him. As he pushed himself off the ground something sticky caught his wrist and stuck him to the railing.

More webbing. Then it caught his other wrist. He was pinned down, a sitting duck.

 _Nicely done, Sam_ , he taunted himself as the Spider Kid kept talking. He talked a lot, until he decided to swing front-on into Falcon from the ceiling. Full force? The quick internal calculations told Sam his survival odds weren’t good. A one-story drop and his head would crack on the linoleum like a coconut.

Spider-Man’s feet connected with something else, though. Whatever it was slammed into Falcon with enough force to break the rail and the bonds of the webbing which freed his hands. He turned onto his side mid-air, and landed with the weight on his left side. His head missed the escalator handrail by inches.

Falcon couldn’t think because his head was too cloudy.

 _On your left_ rang through his mind. Except, when he rolled over, instead of Cap there was Bucky. _The fucking irony._

Sticky. His arms were sticky with even more webbing.  _Dammit!_ Each time Sam got distracted, that webbing stuff came from out of nowhere. (Well, Sam knew it came from somewhere but he didn't want to ask exactly where from his body that kid pulled the stuff.) His arms were crossed across his chest, covered in webbing with no leeway for movement. His fingers, though, they were free.

The webbed wonder was talking too long again. Falcon subtly touched the monitor on his gauntlet. _Come on, Redwing. Come on._ Spider-Man readied to aim another web, but Redwing swooped in and pulled him out the ceiling, into the hangar by his own web.

Falcon went limp for a moment to catch his breath.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?” Winter Soldier asked.

“I hate you,” Falcon replied.

“No you don’t,” Barnes replied.

Sam sat upright and smiled.

“No, I don’t. Now, only one of us has a free hand, and it’s you. Get to work.”

Barnes obeyed, quickly pulling the sticky web from his metal hand. After he was free, he went to Sam and his human fingers awkwardly (if methodically) clawed at the sticky mass criss-crossing Sam’s arms. Then his chest. Slowly, he tore off stringy bits and tossed them aside.

_Awkward silence._

“Not all of us are making it out, you know.” He was met with silence as Barnes pulled more web from Falcon’s gauntlet. I’m going to be arrested, probably. I’m cool with that,” he said in a way that indicated he was very much not cool with that. “I just want you to know that I trust you to, um, to go with Cap and do what you need to do.”

Barnes stopped peeling and stared at the linoleum. He stared very hard at the linoleum before saying,

“Печь, Девять, добросердечный, возвращение на родину, Один, грузовой вагон.”

Barnes ripped most of the webbing off and Sam forced his arms apart.

“What was that?” he asked. Barnes held out his arm and helped Sam to stand.

“Печь, Девять, добросердечный, возвращение на родину, Один, грузовой вагон. You trust me, I trust you.”

“Did--did you just give me your words?”

Barnes didn’t nod. He didn’t blink or give any sign he heard the question. He ran past Sam to the hangar, ready to rejoin the fight. But Falcon was Sam, and Sam Wilson was seven degrees of stunned. Surprised that what he’d told Barnes was the truth. He trusted him alongside Cap, but that breakthrough as Bucky was huge. Bucky wasn’t just suffering PTSD, he was trying to find himself as he was back in the forties as James Barnes, but he was doing it doing it in a new time period altogether. He walked a delicate line on the way to deciding whether to recover what he was or remake himself entirley.

Giving up his words was the biggest gesture of faith Barnes had to offer. It’s not just his life, but his mind that he placed in Sam’s hands. Winter Soldier was a tactician, a machine that would never leave itself such a gaping vulnerability. That act of faith was all James.

As had happened too often in the last few minutes, Sam took just a moment too long and had to run to catch up to the fight.

.oOo.

Last time he was arrested by the federal government, Sam had escaped. No such hope this time. Handcuffed next to his fellow Team Cap prisoners, Sam Wilson just muttered to himself.

“Jill-on-yee, are-zov-vee, seem-nod-sit, ras-vee-yet.”

Scott Lang leaned toward him.

“Practicing your Russian there, buddy?”

“Why, you speak Russian?” Sam raised an eyebrow and Scott shrugged.

“I took a semester. A girl I liked was Russian and TA-ed for it.”

“So if I give you some words, could you translate for me?”

“I’m gonna be honest, probably not. But I’ll give it a go with my extremely limited knowledge.” Sam gave him a look. “Just lowering expectations, man.”

“Okay, here goes: Печь, Девять, добросердечный, возвращение на родину, Один, грузовой вагон.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Again,” he demanded.

“Pech, deeyevit, duh-brush-dish-key, vos-ra-sheen-yeh nah row-din-oh, Odin--”

“Один!”

“You know it?”

“Well, yeah, it’s what you learn right after the alphabet and ‘Where’s the bathroom?’”

“What is it?”

“It’s a number.”

“Which one?”

“One.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tone is an attempt at Sam Wilson--he's a very odd mixture, I've found, of snark and dedication to people he likes. It's been a bit weird writing like this in short bursts, but I think I may have found a balance here. Comments and criticism are always appreciated.


	5. Homecoming

When Cap broke him out, Sam Wilson was righted. Before then, the world had tilted entirely too far on its axis. It wasn’t the small cell or even the suspension of habeas corpus that got to him. No, he knew the sky but Sam was terrified of water. An underwater prison was the stuff of nightmares.

The side-to-side rocking and the jostling of his cell was entirely in his head. The base was stable; he knew that logically there was no motion. But logic doesn’t overcome fear. There was no rationalizing his way out of horrid drowning scenarios. The imagined burning of water as it was expelled from his throat only to end up in his nasal passageway as he desperately tried for air ...

He put on a brave face when Stark visited. That cost him every ounce of willpower, and he did it because Cap and Barnes didn’t know what they were heading into. Sam would say it was worth it, and it was, but he would sooner die than feel that way again. Sam had been huddled in the corner opposite his bed in the fetal position, with his head resting between his knees. When he looked up to see Steve’s face in the door, if a few tears escaped neither man mentioned it. Sam took Steve by the shoulder and pleaded,

“Get me out of here, man. I owe you my life a dozen times over but I am begging you to get me out.”

Steve nodded.

“Always, Sam. I’m here, I’m here for you. We’ll get you out.” Sam nodded. He has no recollection after that exchange. How he got out and into airplane over land is beyond him. But even unconscious, Sam could do the math. Team Cap was one short.

If his first thought spoken in consciousness was, “Where’s Barnes?” Well, no one mentioned that either.

.oOo.

Recovery time. That’s what they called the next few weeks. Sam had so many questions he didn’t know whether he could ask.

_“Black Panther is Team Cap now?”_

_“Why did we choose Wakanda?”_

_“How is Rhodes?”_

_“What happened in Russia?”_

_“Where is Stark?”_

_“Where is Black Widow?”_

Of everything, he asked only one question as they stepped into T’Challa’s hideaway.

“Where’s Barnes?”

Steve led Sam to a room past the kitchen. It seemed the hideaway was an all-inclusive deal if the pots, pans, and spice racks were an indication. But Sam couldn’t spare another thought for T’Challa’s generosity because Steve casually said,

“He’s been asking for you.”

Sam’s stomach turned uncomfortably. Was he nervous? Sam couldn’t think of much reason to be. Except ... How could Sam tell Barnes he figured out another word? Was he allowed to do that or was it a breach of trust? Steve continued,

“Things are going to be different now, with Bucky,” he said cryptically as they continued down a short hallway. “I know you’re experienced with this sort of post-war mentality, and I’m glad you’re here, Sam, I really am.” Sam stopped short and Steve turned to face him.

“What is it you’re not telling me, Rogers?”

“It’s not my place,” Steve shrugged. He put a hand on Sam's shoulder and sighed like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. “Just there, on your left.” He pointed to the room at the end of the hall and turned to leave, patting Sam on back.

“Thank you,” Sam said earnestly. Steve nodded in understanding.

Sam opened the door to see Barnes standing at the room’s only window, light streaming in to silhouette his figure in the otherwise black room. Light bounced off the waterfall, sending small beams onto objects in the rather barren room. There was a bed made with crisp hospital corners. A blanket was crumpled and discarded in the corner. A dresser and a cracked mirror lined the left wall.

Saddest and most eerie of all was the one-armed man at the window. Sam couldn't help his quick intake of breath at the sight of the Winter Soldier without his metal arm. He also could not repress a dozen questions that popped into his mind about who took it and why. Sam caught Barnes’s gaze in the reflection of the glass.

The silence was conveyed not only through the air, but in the rigid posture that was Winter Soldier and the steel gaze of James Barnes. If Sam wasn’t nervous before, he certainly was then. Barnes was shirtless and the window light threw sharp relief on the decades of scars that crisscrossed his lower back and right side. When Barnes turned to face him, Sam couldn’t do the same because his eyes were fixed on--

“Good God, were those ... bullets?” Never in his life had Sam Wilson wanted so badly to claw through the air to grab the words and force them back into his mouth. The sight of four raised, knotted scars across Barnes’s left pectoral left him angry and breathless. He took a step toward James and raised a hand like he wanted to touch them, before remembering they were two men who hardly knew each other. Sam was angry at whomever had shot him. Sam was angry at HYDRA and an internal fury burned because he had not realized one fundamental truth:

No matter the progress they made, Winter Soldier’s actions would forever scar Bucky Barnes.

“When you try to kill people, they tend to shoot back,” Barnes said, though Sam had forgotten he asked a question. Sam’s eyes narrowed on Barnes’s left shoulder, which was armless. Someone had done a damn good job of stitching it up. Sam let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“It’s good to see you,” he said sincerely. Barnes cracked a smile and said,

“возвращение на родину.”

“Vos-na-sheen-yeh nah row-din-oh. I remember that one. What’s it mean?”

“Homecoming.”

"And ‘homecoming’ is bad because ...” Sam felt the answer as soon as he said it. It was the quintessential problem for every soldier in wartime. “Because you didn’t know what you would be coming home to.” 

“I didn’t know who I would be coming home to,” Barnes corrected.

Silence stretched on for minutes and James began to pace. Barnes kicked the wall before frustratedly running his fingers through his hair. Finally, he stopped in front of the window and decided to continue.

“Even if everyone I loved was still here--”

“How could they live with what you’d done?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and criticism are always appreciated.


	6. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot of Russian, but it's supposed to be chaotic stream of consciousness. If you don't get it you're right where the narrative wants you. Beta-ed by Spellcheck. (Apologies to any Russian readers / speakers, for what is likely poor butchery of your language.)
> 
> Edit: minor edits were made to this and chapter 4 after re-watching CA:CW. Very minor.

T’Challa’s hideaway was similar to Stark Tower and Avengers Mansion in that everyone had their space and the space had everything. The adjustment period was very short, but Sam kept to himself the first few days. CNN was unhelpful. He didn’t think of himself as “vigilante,” and he couldn’t see Barnes as a “‘confirmed’ or ‘reformed’ terrorist,” depending on the broadcast. Then again, villainy is a matter of perspective and the UN painted a very clear picture.

SAm only made one request of T’Challa.

“This is all you need?” he’d asked.

“That’s about it. Maybe a pair of Jordans. But seriously a few days’ worth of clothes and the book, can you handle that big guy?”

The King of Wakanda scoffed and Sam took some weird pride in that. Teasing T’Challa was fun if for no other reason than he was king one-hundred percent of the time. Stark had the billionaire playboy bit (for the cameras), CEO, inventor (the dominant private persona), the superhero gig, and, most recently, chief UN negotiator. T’Challa was consolidated because King of Wakanda and Black Panther were under the same umbrella of “protector.” Sam respected and trusted that.

Which is how he ended up at three AM reading _Russian for Dummies_. He mumbled a lot. _What sort of whackass alphabet is this? If I had to learn this shit, I’d probably start killing people, too._ That last was a joke, but didn’t ring as hollow as it should have.

Sam was still up that morning, practicing basic phrases. He sat at the kitchen island saying small sentences to get used to the new letters. Because the p sounds like an r and the b sounds like v and Sam was fucked from a to z. _Where is the orange juice?_ Simple enough.

“Gud-yeh apple-seen-of-why sock?” Sam asked himself. He shook his head and tried again. “Gud-yeh app-el-seen-uh-voy sock.” A bottle of orange juice thudded on the table in front of him. Sam looked up to see, of course, Barnes.

“I’d help you out, but the struggle is adorable,” he joked.

“Mhmmm ...” Sam replied, pouring himself a glass. “Soon I’ll be able to kick your ass in two languages.”

There was a hint of a smile on Barnes’s face just then. One sided, like maybe he really thought it was funny. Maybe.

“Why are you up so early anyway?” Sam asked.

Barnes tapped his knuckles on the counter and looked away before saying, “Early riser.”

“Liar,” Sam countered.

“Don’t let him fool you, he sleeps like a rock,” Steve said, appearing from nowhere.

“He’s right,” Barnes sighed melodramatically. “Your Russian was just so bad I couldn’t sleep through it.” He turned to leave and Sam shouted at his back,

“Get a haircut, Elsa!” and if Barnes laughed at that, no one decided to mention it.

“So ...” Steve leaned over Sam’s shoulder, awkwardly pouring his own glass of juice. “Russian?” He did a crap job of concealing his approval.

“Mhmm,” Sam nodded, flipping back to the page with the phonetic alphabet. “Slavic Stallone over there kind of gave me his words. I know them in Russian but I don’t know Russian, you know what I mean?”

“Not a clue.”

.oOo.

Two days later, Sam had the alphabet. He knew it visually and phonetically. His actual vocabulary was limited to the five words Barnes had given him, and one he hadn’t.

Of all the former Avengers, Wanda had the worst time adjusting. She sat on the couch opposite Sam, curled into herself, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. Sam was trying to work on numbers. Barnes did have two on his trigger list. Though, Wanda did look extra moody. Sam placed a finger in his book to mark the page and shifted to sit next to her. Embracing his unofficial role as camp counselor, Sam asked,

“Do you want to talk about it?” Wanda shrugged.

“Why? You all know what I’ve done.” She choked up toward the end and Sam took her hand.

“We know what you can do. We know the good you can do.”

“At what cost?” she asked desperately. “Sokovia. Nigeria and the Wakandans. Colonel Rhodes--”

“Whoa, whoa, Rhodes is not on you.”

“I distracted Vision. One is a coincident. Two is a couple. Three is a pattern.” Sam hugged her shoulders and said,

“You’re doing good, kid, and you’ll do more, I promise.” Wanda nodded as Sam released her. He, too, struggled with the cost of the Avengers’ autonomy. But if he needed a reminder of the perils of government control, he’d walk down the hall.

Numbers, numbers. Sam ran through the numbers in Russian. “Один, два, три, четыре, пять, шесть, семь, восемь, девять, десять.” Again.

“One, Один; two, два; three, три; four, четыре; five, пять; six, шесть; seven, семь; eight, восемь; nine, девять; ten,  десять.” Wait. That’s it! That’s in there!

“восемь, девять, десять. Eight, nine, ten. Nine.” That’s it. “Wait a minute ... Wanda, what did you say?”

“What did I say when?” she asked, but Sam muttered to himself and looked back from the book to his list of Winter Soldier’s words. He scratched “nine” overtop “d-yay-vich.”

“Seem-not-sit, d-yay-vich, odin. Seventeen ... nine ... one ...”

“Three is a pattern?” Wanda repeated. Sam’s eyes narrowed. _Tick, tock. Tick, tock._

“Son of a bitch!” Sam shouted before apologizing to Wanda. He stomped to Barnes’s room, but no luck. Sam stormed to the only other place Barnes could be: the small gym on their floor.

While Barnes was Bucky, watching him at the heavybag made it clear he had not lost the efficiency or speed of Winter Soldier. Sam watched for a minute as he cooled down. Never a good idea to surprise someone with PTSD, especially as pissed as Sam was at that moment.

Winter Soldier was frightening. No shoes, just shorts, tank top, and leather gloves--a leather glove. One glove for one hand. He was lithe as he practiced combinations. He’d jab then cut back across with his elbow and Barnes made nasty work of the bag with his legs. It was insane how quick his footwork was. Except, with the recent loss of his metal arm, there was a balance issue. It took about two minutes before he fell on his ass. Barnes leaned his head on the bag, eyes closed.

“What do you need?” he asked. Sam smiled to himself and leaned against the door frame.

“You’re a dick.”

Barnes cracked one eye open and raised an eyebrow.

“You need my dick?” he asked, playfully. Sam laughed, the annoyance slowly abated.

“You are such an ass! I thought you were being truthful and you were giving me the whole story with your words.”

“And what had you done to deserve that?”

“I--” Wait. “That’s a good question,” Sam finally admitted.

“ _Russian for Dummies_ must be a real page-turner.”

“Семнадцать, Девять, Один. Seventeen, nine, one. It’s a countdown.”

“It’s a warning,” Barnes corrected. Sam nodded.

“So you know what’s coming.”

“So I know what’s coming,” he agreed.

_Silence._

“When are you going to tell me who took your arm?” Sam pressed. Barnes sharply took in a breath and used his right arm to push off the ground.

“Ask Steve,” came the terse reply. Barnes tried to brush past Sam, but he wrapped an arm around Barnes’s midsection and forced him backward.

“I ask Steve and I get a ten-minute lecture on the right to privacy before he tells me to ask you. Just saving myself the pain.”

Silence around Barnes was nothing new in this days-old relationship, but that stretch was the scariest. There was a sanguine, angry look in Barnes's eyes. His jaw twitched like he was waging an internal battle and gauging odds. He was in soldier mode, on defense.

This left Sam entirely in the dark. He was scared of losing Bucky, whether Barnes decided to take a swing at him or just leave and retreat back into himself. God, he felt so close to the point where he could tell what was HYDRA and which parts were the James he’d been before they made him Winter Soldier. Barnes wasn’t sure that part of himself existed anymore. 

There was a noticeable shift in Barnes’s posture and he took a step back, somber.

“HYDRA took my arm. My arm has been gone eighty years. I am not,” he said, “a machine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and criticism are always welcome.


	7. Benign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence warning for the beginning of this chapter. If you're squeamish, you may want to skip over the first bit. (Ctrl + f and type "The Air Force" and you'll go right to the second bit.) Again, apologies to all you who read or speak Russian. My only beta is Spellcheck. The word count is long, but I promise you need everything that's included.

> He knows three things: it’s nineteen-forty-something, he can’t move, and whatever comes next is gonna hurt. His vision isn’t great; there is a black ring around everything like he’s looking at the world through a telescope. People dressed as doctors hover over him, and he hopes they are doctors because he is lying on what seems to be an operating table. He can put two and two together.
> 
> He can’t understand what they’re saying. He blinks a lot, trying to make his outer vision return. Faces are blurry and everything in his head is fuzzy. He can see restraints on his legs—trapped. He tenses his muscles and pushes but they do not move.
> 
> That’s when he knows this is bad.
> 
> Looking to his left, he is disheartened but unsurprised to see his arm, to the clavicle, is gone. The stitches appear garish and haphazard and he thanks God he was not awake for that. Though his mind screams _Flight! Flight! Flight!_  his muscles are tense and tight like he has been asleep for days. His eyes roll backward …
> 
> _Smack!_
> 
> "Wake up!" an accented, disembodied voice commands with a slap to his cheek. There is a bright light in the far wall. An oven, maybe? Furnace? There is something shiny in it. A doctor uses tongs to take it from the heat and place it on a tray. As it is rolled to him another doctor approaches his left side with a scalpel. He squints. _That can’t be right._
> 
> "No." He shakes his head violently. "No, no, no!" This is not happening and he pushes against the restraints again but he is firmly pinned.
> 
> "You need to be awake for this," another voice says. He grinds his teeth and someone brings the metal arm to the side of the table. The hand with the scalpel goes to work and he winces as each stitch comes open with a squelchy "pop!"
> 
> He watches as the derma opens around the bone, unable to understand it is his own. Disassociation is the only thing keeping his eyes open. Two folds of skin flap like sheets on a clothesline, swaying in the breeze. Blood drips from the edges to end up as lily pads on the floor. A hand is on his right cheek pressing his face into the table.
> 
> "You will watch this," the voice commands, shoving something solid between his teeth. "Bite," so he does. He has killed people and if this is penance he will bear it.
> 
> They pin the skin back, exposing the bone. It looks like a venus fly trap and he bites down so hard he thinks his teeth may crack. It becomes clear this is a long process as the doctors place some sort of internal wiring first.
> 
> Four clamps are positioned two inches up the visible clavicle. They hammer them in one-by-one, before fusing metal and bone together. The sounds are sickening. His eyes water openly and crying overpowers the pain as mucus and spit sticks to his throat like clay. He nearly swallows the block of whatever between his teeth. That earns him another palm to the face.
> 
> He feels like the bone may crack. Like the pull of the machinery will drag his left half to the floor and he can no longer disassociate the rest of his body from his left shoulder.
> 
> It is hard to breathe and his jaw aches. The hand on his face is sweaty. He can hardly see his arm and what he can see is in double-vision. He knows his legs must hurt from pushing against the restraints, but he can’t feel anything outside the overwhelming agony of compression in his shoulder.
> 
> Thoughts stop as even more hands slide the exoskeleton overtop the wiring. They are so slow and take such care it’s almost sensual. Then they give the wiring a final tug and he shouts in surprise because he can feel it. He feels it from his shoulder to the fingertips. It is there and he can move it. It is his arm now. Relief doesn’t ebb the throbbing in his left shoulder, even as he hears the satisfying click of the exoskeleton linking to the internal hardware.
> 
> He doesn’t want an arm or even his own shoulder. He just wants to die. The final metal piece is placed over his shoulder, nearly onto his neck. He lets out an involuntary sob of relief because
> 
> _It’s over._
> 
> The hand comes off his face but he cannot move his head. Or much of anything. It is too heavy. The hand that was on his face joins another in holding that final metal piece over his shoulder. It will fall off and he wonders how they will make it stay. Except his mind is directionless with pain and he can’t put two and two together anymore.
> 
> There are new hands and they cover his ears. They force his head to the other side. It really is hot and everything is tinted kind of blue-green. It is really hot and there are more hands, hands everywhere, tightening the restraints. But why would they do that? Why are four hands holding his head down, face away?
> 
> It is really hot, like someone is dripping candle wax onto his skin. Until it’s not the wax; it’s the fire.
> 
> He screams. The sound tears at his throat and he nearly chokes again. It’s on his chest, flames licking their way from his side until the heat cradles his jaw. Now he feels it everywhere, burning his side, shoulder, chest … The white-hot metal causes his skin to boil like soup and he wants to vomit.
> 
> He screams again and the bit falls out of his mouth. He is loud and they can only push his head further into the table. It is burning. His jaw clenches reflexively and he bites his tongue. Hard. Another scream and blood dribbles out of his mouth.

_Barnes? Barnes!_

> His body shakes violently against the restraints.

_Barnes!_

> His eyes roll back into his head and everything hurts and everything is hot.

…

**There are only two hands now.**

.oOo.

The Air Force conditioned Sam to be a light sleeper. The nervous knocking on his door wouldn’t have woken many, but he rolled over and cracked an eye open.

_3:08?_

Legs over the side, yawn, stretch, stand. He was not surprised to see Steve when he opened the door. Cap rubbed the nape of his neck, unable to meet Sam’s eyes.

"Steve?"

He finally looked up, startled. Sam blinked as his brain tried to catch up with the rest of him.

"It’s Bucky, he—" Sam held up a hand.

"Lead the way."

Not that Sam didn’t know the way to Barnes’s room, Steve just needed to lead. Whatever this was, and Sam was confident he knew, it was clearly invitation-only. His feet were loud as they smacked the chilly floor, echoing off the walls. Barnes’s shouting was muffled, but audible from a few doors down and Sam picked up the pace.

"I can’t wake him up," Steve said. "Because he knew me then, I don’t ground him here in reality. He can’t tell the difference between whatever’s happening in his head and me here."

They approached the door and Sam flung it open to see Barnes turning every which way, comforter almost entirely off the bed and his fingers clutching wildly at the sheets.

"Barnes?" Sam asked, stunned momentarily by powerlessness. He came back to himself and muttered, "Dammit, Steve."

Most of Barnes’s body was rigid. His head and abdomen did the bulk of the movement, as though the rest of him was pinned down. Sam climbed on the bed and locked his knees on either side of Barnes’s waist. James’s eyes were scrunched, brow lowered like he was in pain. He placed his hands on James’s shoulders, effectively stopping all movement. Barnes shouted again and Sam waited until he finished.

"Barnes!" Sam shouted. Again, "Barnes!" James opened his eyes for a second before shaking his head and closing them again. He tried to curl onto his right side and muttered,

"Too hot, too hot, too hot."

"He’s not with us quite yet," Sam said, trying to coax James awake. "Barnes?" he asked again, softly.

Barnes was breathing heavily. When he opened his eyes, James still could not meet Sam’s gaze. When they finally locked eyes, Barnes was shocked, disoriented, and a little embarrassed. Sam steadied his voice to say,

"James, you’re here. Sam and Steve, we’re here."

Barnes didn’t say anything for a minute. His hair was a sweaty mess, stuck to his forehead and neck. Sam’s face was so close, in concern, that he felt James’s breath. Barnes looked at Steve then back to Sam and kind of croaked out,

"Why are you on top of me?"

Sam practically jumped off the bed. Didn’t need Barnes getting the wrong idea. Sam was thrown off because Barnes looked, for a moment, a little hurt. James narrowed his eyes in confusion, still trying to adjust to reality.

"You’re awake," Steve offered.

"Yeah. Yeah, I got that," Barnes said as he sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. His hair really was a mess. Sam wanted to push it out of his face. He had no idea the Winter Soldier could exist at such a low. But then, it really wasn’t Winter Soldier at all.

"It was worse this time, Buck," Steve said.

"This has happened before?" Sam asked, but neither Steve nor Barnes gave any indication they heard him.

"So you grabbed Wilson?!" Barnes stood as Steve said,

"I trust Sam. You sounded like you were in pain."

They were only ten feet apart then, and Sam saw this going south real quick.

"I was in pain, Steve! In 1945!"

"I couldn’t just stay next door and listen!"

"Yes, Steve, you can! That’s what you’re supposed to do."

Sam situated himself between the two of them, hands up. Later he’d question the death wish of getting between two emotionally-charged super-soldiers, even if they only had three arms between the two of them.

"Move, Sam," Barnes demanded. Whatever he was gonna do, Steve looked like he planned to take it. Sam repeated,

"This has happened before?"

"Every night," Steve said. Sam turned to face him, a condemnatory look on his face.

"Are you for real?" Sam seethed. "How are you only coming to me now?"

"It may have escaped your notice, but I’m awake and I’m fine," Barnes answered. Sam pivoted to face him, but Steve replied first.

"No, Buck, you’re not fine! I’m supposed to listen to your nightmares? Your flashbacks? Your pain? And wonder which Bucky I’m going to wake up to?" Barnes looked like he was about to punch Steve, so Sam closed the distance between himself and James, backing him up toward the wall.

"There is one, Steve!" Barnes shouted over Sam’s shoulder. "You are un-fucking-believable, Rogers! While you were taking a goddamn nap, I was the fist of HYDRA! The most lethal weapon of our enemy! While you were mythologized, I was killing people!"

"I know, Buck."

"добросердечный," Barnes said.

Sam paused. He’d heard that word.

"Benign," Barnes continued. "Like a tumor. That’s what Bucky Barnes was to HYDRA. That’s all I was from the forties until I saw you again. Bucky Barnes was nothing and I woke up with a fuck-ton of memories of my hands literally choking the life out of people, Steve. I put bullets in undeserving people and had no choice in doing it. My hands did it and my mind remembers."

"Calm down, Barnes," Sam said in a voice he hoped was soothing. "I know you’re scared still. Adrenaline is leaving you a bit, that’s okay. But make no mistake, you know where my loyalty is here." The glance James spared for Sam conveyed understanding and respect. Barnes shrugged him off and spoke to Steve, radiating hostility in his posture, his voice, his eyes.

"There is one Bucky Barnes, Steve. You know that. But hundreds of people look at me and see the last thing their parents ever saw. Their kid, their brother, their wife … They look at me and feel that fear. I have to live with that because I remember every single one of them." Barnes ran a hand through his hair, wiping it off his forehead. He was so sweaty, all it did was make his hair stand in different directions.

"Look," he began. "Look at me, Steve," he insisted. Steve complied and Sam shrank away, trying desperately to become one with the wallpaper. Barnes continued,

"My name is Bucky. The Winter Soldier is dead," he said, like he’d repeated it to himself several times.

"Buck, he’s not." Steve shook his head. "You know he's not."

"There are two people in the world that can resurrect that part of my brain, and one of them is in a heavily-guarded UN-sanctioned prison."

"And the other?"

Barnes didn’t reply; he just looked at Sam.

.oOo.

Barnes disappeared and Sam returned to his room.

"Too tired for this shit."

Sam slept like the dead. At some point on the walk back to his room, the gravity of what Barnes hadn’t said hit him. Not like a ton of bricks. Like, "I want to sleep until I don’t have to deal with this anymore."

Though, he woke at the normal time. He showered, dressed, and Scott Lang had made pancakes.

"So, uh, how are things?" he asked awkwardly. Sam poured a hefty amount of syrup onto his pancakes.

"Things are fine, Tic-Tac."

"The way you say that makes me think things are not fine," Scott replied. Sam shrugged, continuing to eat. Through mouthfuls he said,

"Right, so, in 2014 a super-soldier we all thought was dead shows up and needs my help. We try to save the world and then we’re living together."

"Which is cool," Scott nodded.

"Yeah. So, fast forward to 2016. A super-soldier everyone thought was dead shows up needing my help. We try to save the world and now …"

"You’re living together," Scott finished. They laughed.

"Bingo," Sam said, downing his final pieces of pancake. "Gud-yeh app-el seen-of-why-sock?" he muttered to himself.

"In the fridge, I think," Scott replied.

Sam had to laugh. Really, how ridiculous was the situation? Scott Lang had one semester of basic Russian and knew ten times more words than Sam. But Sam knew the most powerful ten words the language had to offer.

Half an hour later he was at the shooting range. T’Challa seemed to have everything he needed. If this was the vigilante life, well, Sam couldn’t say it was all bad. T’Challa had great toys. When he finished, Sam turned around to see Steve waiting for him.

"Did Bucky mean what he said?"

"He didn’t say anything, Cap," Sam quipped. Steve crossed his arms.

"Are you learning Russian to control him?"

"Shit, Steve!" Sam exclaimed, putting his gear away. "You know me better than that, man."

Steve sighed, "You’re right. I do. It’s just, Buck’s the most important thing to me. When I came out of the ice, I couldn’t trust anyone immediately. They always wanted to control me, manipulate me, or use me as a symbol for something I couldn’t understand."

"Except me," Sam said.

"Except you," he agreed. "So why learn the words?"

"So I can understand him," Sam said. "So I look at him and know why these words kill Bucky Barnes. Why these words strip away his humanity."

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets as Barnes rounded the corner.

"Gossiping, ladies?" he asked before putting on earphones to block their response. Sam and Steve watched him. Everything was methodical and practiced, but Barnes was so casual. He hit every target dead-centre, with his hair pulled back in a messy bun. Those moments it was easiest to see what James Barnes must have been like in the forties.

"He was a hit with the dames," Steve read Sam’s mind.

"No doubt," Sam agreed. _The men, too_ , he didn’t say aloud. James’s eyes were impossibly expressive. No one could deny that appeal. He was a good-looking guy, super-soldier fit, and Sam was not going to not appreciate it.

"So this is Bucky?" he asked. Steve smiled in reply.

"This is Bucky," he agreed. They turned to leave.

"I still haven’t figured out why he picked you to trust," Steve admitted. Sam shrugged,

"He trusts me because you trust me.

.oOo.

Upon arrival, no one wanted to play Jenga with Sam. He eventually goaded Wanda into it with a unique philosophy: "You wanna move things with your mind? You’ve got to learn control. Play Jenga."

Wanda was crap at Jenga. As the tower fell over again, she just huffed and reset the blocks.

"I’ve been thinking," Sam said.

"Do not strain yourself too hard," Wanda replied.

"I’ve been trying to sort the words into themes," Sam said as he removed a block.

"Why would you do that?" Wanda asked, taking a block toward the top. Her magic caused the tower to tilt a bit, but she was successful. Sam picked his next block.

"Because if they wanted to strip him down, turn him into Winter Soldier, they needed to be methodical about it. Take away his hope, claim ownership of his body, then destroy Bucky Barnes."

Sam’s turn was successful. Wanda pointed her finger at a block toward the middle and ever so slowly nudged it out with her mind. It hit the table with a satisfying "clack."

"I think you are confused," Wanda said. Sam smiled and cocked an eyebrow.

"Hermione’s got jokes now?"

"No, what you said will make someone a monster," Wanda grew solemn. "I know what I did. What I became and who I am. Zee Winter Soldier was not a monster."

"He wasn’t, was he?" Sam asked rhetorically. He set his sights on a block toward the bottom.

"He was a machine," Wanda offered. Sam nodded in agreement and reached for his chosen block.

"So, how do you take a man and make him a machine?"

The tower fell to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! It's done! After ten drafts of this chapter, I finally got it right. I hope. I had so much to tell and each chapter is about a word so all of this needed to be said. I think. Let me know!!
> 
> Comments and criticism are always appreciated.


	8. Furnace / Freight Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 2 AM and I've been working on this chapter off-and-on since about 10 AM yesterday. My brain is fried, but it's been three weeks and I owe this to you wonderful readers, so here it is!! Again, apologies to all Russian readers / speakers. Also I apologize to anyone who thought this was rated M for sexy times because they're not included. My only beta is Spellcheck.

Barnes disappeared for three days. Any time Sam asked where he was, the response was simply, “Out.” Like they’d all gotten a memo. Sam missed James, but Steve Rogers would have to pry that admission from Sam’s cold, dead hands.

Or just ask.

“Out. Why, you miss him?”

“Yeah.”

“You sweet on him?” Steve half-teased through a mouthful of fruit. Sam punched his arm.

The next day, Sam spread himself out on the couch, channel surfing on a TV the size of Maryland. Legs spread wide, his arms draped over the top. When Barnes dropped onto the couch next to him, Sam became hyperaware of everything about him and the distance between them. If Sam stretched his fingers he could touch James’s hair. Barnes had the unmistakable jetlag groan and undereye circles. Of all the questions Sam had to almost physically swallow, the most difficult was “Where the hell have you been?”

Sam was pissed. Irrationally, maybe, and Sam didn’t know why. He had no hold on Barnes and since when did Sam care about seeing James every day.

At what point did he become “James?”

Sam was pissed and his body was tense and why was James leaning back with his eyes closed? Sam’s fingers were in his hair, his really soft hair. Sam tugged slightly and James moaned quietly. That sent shivers all the way down to Sam’s nether region and he momentarily forgot what he was doing and whom he was with.

Sam reminded himself he was pissed Barnes pulled the disappearing act. He wanted Sam out of the loop, so Sam got under his skin ... Just a little. James didn’t say anything when Sam found the remote and pulled up the guide. Didn’t move when he entered the sports channels. Once Sam made the selection, though, James clenched his jaw, opened his eyes, and visibly strained to dispel some very 1940s know-how. Sam stared at him, daring him to comment on the game but he let it be.

_Message received._

Barnes pushed himself off the couch and Sam returned his attention to the Los Angeles Dodgers. In retrospect, Sam knew what he was starting; a delay of the inevitable. Their version of “I don’t want to talk about it so we’re not going to talk about it.”

When he returned to his bedroom, Sam felt pretty good about himself. Except, when he opened his “secret” snack drawer his face fell. Deep down, Sam wasn’t surprised to see his entire candy stash replaced with seed packets and a post-it labeled “Bird Food.” Sam nodded his head and muttered, “Alright. Winter was here.”

If all of James’s hair ties disappeared from his bathroom, well, no one decided to mention it.

**.oOo.**

The next day began similarly. Sam spread out on the same corner of the couch, watched the day’s Dodgers game on TV. Barnes dropped down beside him and asked,

“Can I have the remote?”

“Sure,” Sam said as he pulled out the large jar holding the remote. James looked at it and laughed. A wordless, _That’s how this is?_

“That’s a dick move,” he replied, not really insulted.

“Tell me where my candy is and I’ll stop.”

“You don’t think I can open a jar with one hand?”

“No, I’m sure you can.”

“So what? You wanted to watch me try?” Barnes teased.

“Nah,” Sam shook his head, but Barnes wasn’t buying. He placed the jar between his thighs for leverage and laid his head back to rest on the couch. His fingers spread over the entire lid, gripping the ridges on the side, and Sam’s brain was nothing but a dial tone. This had gone very wrong. As he delicately turned the lid inch by inch, James’s nose scrunched a bit and he made some noises definitely not necessary to open a jar.

When he finally twisted the lid all the way off, James turned his head to the side and threw the lid at Sam with a satisfied smile. His eyes didn’t leave Sam’s as he slowly fished the remote from the bottom of the jar, until he looked at the TV to change the channel.

“You can close your mouth now,” he said.

Sam wondered how he hadn’t figured it out earlier. He never asked himself why it was so easy to be around Barnes--it just was. Sam had been awed the past couple weeks, in awe of James. In the face of three contradicting realities Barnes was headstrong enough to want to push forward, though everyone in the world looked at him with misunderstanding.

Barnes was looking at him, brow furrowed a bit.

“Hey, Sam are you--”

“I gotta go,” Sam said as he stood to leave.

**.oOo.**

There’s a certain comfort level in the silence of the kitchen at two o’clock in the morning. That day, Sam wouldn’t get it. James and Steve huddled at the island, heads close in intense conversation over a plate of cookies. As he approached, Sam only heard fragments.

“Wanda offered ...”

“I won’t let her ...”

“You’ve already made up your mind ...”

“I haven’t ...”

“It sounds like you have ...”

“But Sam ... You can’t go back under ...”

Sam cleared his throat as he rounded the corner and beelined to the fridge.

“Australia? Is that where you’ve been? ‘Down undah?’” Sam asked. He opened the fridge as James cautioned,

“Leave it alone, Sam.”

That lit the fuse and when Sam saw the empty jug, he exploded.

“You drank my orange juice!” He turned to Barnes and held the empty bottle aloft for him and Steve to see.

“Yeah, Sam, I drank your orange juice. You gonna punch me in the face now?” Barnes replied facetiously. Steve got up and stood between them, acting as both referee and line of demarcation. He explained to Sam that Barnes was debating whether to re-freeze until they could remove the Winter Soldier from his mind. With the caveat that Wanda offered to fix it for him.

“You don’t trust her?” Sam accused.

“No, dammit! Shut the hell up, Sam, and think!”

“She’s not HYDRA!”

“Damn right, she’s not! She’s a kid!” Barnes kicked his barstool away and stood, drawing himself up to full height like any inch he’d gain on Sam was an advantage.

“So, what, you want to deal with this on your own? Some ‘tortured soul’ bullshit?”

“Are you getting a nice workout jumping to all these conclusions, Wilson? You don’t know a damn thing--”

“Because you won’t tell me a damn thing!” Sam shouted in strangled irritation. Steve crossed his arms and said,

“Somehow I don’t think this began with the orange juice.” Both Sam and James looked at him like they’d forgotten he was there. James returned his attention to Sam.

“Think it through. Do you think that one nightmare you saw is the only red zone in my head? That was just the beginning! How about when I watched Stark’s mother take her last breath under my fingers?

“I’ve killed so many people. I have done horrible things and had unimaginable horrors done to me, Sam. And I remember every. Single. One.” Punctuating that last to ensure Sam understood how much he failed to grasp about the situation. “Do you think I want to carry this?” His voice cracked in frustration. James picked up the plate of cookies and threw it against the wall. The shards clinked, loud in the quiet as they fell to the floor.

“What do you think I am? Do you think I want to be dangerous to the world? To you? To Steve? How can you think I want that?”

“James, I don’t, but if Wanda wants to help, maybe you should let her. It may be helpful--”

“Helpful? Looking in my head would be helpful? I’m not going to put the things I’ve seen, much worse the appalling things I’ve done, onto her. She can clear them away from me, but only to live with them herself. And I am not putting this on anyone but me.”

“That’s your problem, isn’t it? So concerned about everyone else, and you think the only way to keep them safe is to stay away from them.” Sam laughed, perplexed. “Is that what you’ve been doing? Keeping me in the dark to protect me? God, I’ve been looking for a reason to hate you so bad. I told you I didn’t, and I never did.”

“Why did you want to hate me?” James asked, demoralized. Sam said he didn’t want to talk about it, so James persisted. “Why?” But Sam insisted he was not in the mood to discuss. Some things were still too raw. “Sam!” James’s voice was husky with desperation and Sam could only reply,

“Shut the fuck up, Barnes! Shut up!”

“No!” James insisted, loud enough to probably wake some of the others. Sam couldn’t be bothered to care and kicked a stool in frustration.

“What happened to me shouldn't affect me. I should be stronger than this, alright? I don’t ... I can’t admit it. I don’t hate you.”

“Why would you?”

“Steve!” Sam looked around the kitchen for alcohol because if there was ever a time ... “You and Steve, alright? It gets to me. You two have what I can never get back. I want Riley back. One second we were flying together, next I know an RPG tagged him and Riley’s falling blind out of the sky and I can’t do a damn thing.

“He was my best friend. He was my partner, and I look at you two and see that. I see what I’m never going to get back--the person who understood me both as a soldier and a man. I don’t have that anymore. When Rhodes the other day ...” Sam trailed off, grit his teeth and kicked the stool again so it toppled to the floor. “Took me right back to that, right back there. Of course, you and Cap get to fly into the sunset.”

“That’s fucked up, Sam.” James said.

“Sam, I’m sorry--” Steve said earnestly, but James pushed him aside.

“I get it, Steve. I have a thousand reasons to hate myself.” James tilted his head a bit to one side. “But does Sam?” Sam shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“Steve, go get the thing,” James said cryptically.

Steve left and James stared at Sam to determine the next move. Or maybe he was begging Sam to take it back. Begging Sam to hate him and make it easier to return to the cryo-freeze. Sam wouldn’t move. He was eighty percent in love with Bucky Barnes. They stood there, at opposite ends of the kitchen island, in a panicked stasis. Sam, confused about what was happening, what he felt, and what had just transpired. Barnes was terrified of how Sam could react to what came next.

Steve returned a minute later and placed two Ziploc-like bags on the counter, each containing one journal page. He handed Sam a beer.

“Bucky is my best friend, and I’m with him ‘til the end of the line. He asked me to do this and I can’t think of a more worthy person to have these. Sam, you’re the only person I could come to for help when I needed it most. When the entire world was after me, you were there by my side. For that, I think Bucky has made the best choice.”

“What’s this?” Sam asked, opening the beer bottle and taking a couple long gulps before glancing back down to the pages.

“That’s what I spent the last few days trying to get,” James replied. “They’re yours.”

Sam, puzzled, studied the pages because those words weren’t his; they were Russian. Sam put his beer down and shifted to read them. James came up beside him, touching the one on the left.

“This is the origin of the Winter Soldier. The book was confiscated from Zemo and T’Challa handed it to the UN. We reached an agreement.”

“Back up, you went to the UN? You? One of the world’s most wanted terrorists? Shoot on-site, ask questions later, walked into the United Nations?” Sam turned to Steve. “And you let him?”

“Sam, I swear to God, look at the damn pages.” James sighed, exasperated. “This page is what HYDRA did to me at the beginning. This is what you saw me remember,” James stiffened a bit, then tapped the other page. “These are my words. The only copy HYDRA kept, the only copy the UN had, and now it’s, um, well. It’s yours.”

Sam’s mouth moved, but nothing came out. James’s hand balled into a fist before he reached for the beer Steve held out to him. Every frustrated gesture said, “This isn’t who I was meant to be, but what they made me.” Their position and the tension, nearly nose-to-nose, conveyed everything James tried to avoid. _I like you and I’m afraid to hurt you. For giving me even the dimmest hope that I might be worthy of redemption from what I’ve done, in return I’m giving you the power to destroy me._

“Why?” Sam asked, his eyes not moving from the familiar words on the second page.

“Because if this is out there, if anyone gets to know how to turn me back into a machine, I want it to be you.”

“Why not Steve?”

“Really?” James sighed and took a few steps backward. “I give you ... This. And you ... Listen, Sam, I don’t know what you think ...” He ran his hand through his hair like he was surprised he had to explain this at all. He pointed to the fifth word on the page. “Печь. This is what you saw me remember. It means ‘furnace’ because that’s how they attached the arm to my body. HYDRA wanted me to associate Bucky and disobedience with pain. So every moment I am Bucky is literally painful. Then you came along and had every opportunity to hate me. Every reason.”

“Yeah, I was especially fond of you when you picked me up by my face and threw me across the room.”

“Exactly. You didn’t know me, but you trusted me to fight at your side. You’ve done so much already that I just want to give this to you, is all.” James looked like if the beer would have any effect on him, he’d have drained it. He would welcome it if the floor opened up and swallowed him whole.

“Bucky, I will never need your words because this isn’t who you are.” Sam would’ve said more, but James’s beer bottle smashed on the floor. Barnes stared at him, mouth open. Sam tried to brush it off by saying, “Yeah, we’re definitely going to need a broom.”

But James said, “Say it again.”

“It isn't who you are,” Sam shrugged and looked over Barnes’s shoulder. “Where’d Steve get off to?”

“Steve left. Please, my God, say it again.”

“It was a slip, honestly, I can’t imagine why--” Sam stopped because James had balled the front of his shirt into his fist and pulled him so they were literally nose-to-nose. Barnes breathed heavily and his gaze was locked on Sam’s eyes.

_Your move._

When Sam closed the distance, the kiss was hard and quick. There wasn’t a lot of technique, just Sam pressing his lips against Bucky’s in an attempt to get closer. Sam elicited a moan indicating this had been much too long in coming. His left hand was in Bucky’s hair, grabbing to pull him closer because just then Sam had no desire more potent than _protect Bucky Barnes_. He pulled back a bit, but Barnes followed, not wanting any space between them. Sam’s hand was on Barnes’s neck, his thumb tracing Bucky’s jawline as Sam tilted his head to get a better angle. _Closer._

It was over as quickly as it started when Sam backed away and licked his lips.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, his confidence gone. Sam shook his head,

“Don’t be.” They were silent for a few moments before Sam asked, “Why aren’t you fully committed to putting yourself back under. You sounded so sure.” Bucky looked at him like he was an idiot.

“I’m scared to wake up to a different world again. This last year, time felt more like freedom than a seventy-year series of disconnected sunsets. What if I wake up and you’re not here?”

“I’ll be here.”

“What if you’re not.”

“If I tell you I’m going to be here when you open your eyes, you damn well better believe me when I say it,” Sam said with such conviction that Bucky took a step backward. Then he nodded.

“I do.”

**.oOo.**

Looking at Bucky frozen was worse than Sam imagined. He thought it’d be like Bucky was asleep; not frozen in indecision, fingers ghosting over the pants pocket that held Sam’s dog tags. It was simple--he had to find a cure. Bucky entrusted that to him, and Sam refused to fail. Sam had made that promise a dozen times, bouncing between English and broken Russian. He made it on Bucky’s lips the night before, as he’d handed Barnes his dog tags over breakfast, and again just then as he looked at James through frostbitten glass.

Steve appeared at his side.

“He said it’s best for everyone, but that’s a load of shit,” Sam said. Steve nodded.

“He thought it was best; said he couldn’t trust his own mind.”

“Stubborn jackass. Don’t know how HYDRA put up with him for seventy years.”

“You could probably read all about it,” Steve quipped.

“Did you mean what you said? About him making the right decision to trust me? Because I was really worried I was busting in on whatever you two had going.”

Steve laughed at that.

“I’m always going to see him as Bucky from the 1940s. The guy who took care of me when I was sick, who punched the jerks too big for me to handle, and always believed in me. Even when I was wearing tights,” he smiled. “So for you to come in and trust him with blind faith, that was incredible. And I sure as hell am not going to have sex with him, so more power to you.” Sam laughed at that.

“You ever gonna tell me who ripped his arm off?” Steve shook his head.

“You’d want to kill him.”

“I do.”

“That’s why I won’t.” Steve said and Sam nodded in agreement. “Did you figure out the final two words?”

“Yeah, he told me the ninth.”

“And the tenth?”

“ _Russian for Dummies_ ,” Sam joked. “I figured that one pretty easily. See, Wanda showed me that there wasn’t a linear progression of words--there was only chaos. Except for the final word because there has to be a hard stop. The be-all end-all of Bucky Barnes. грузовой автомобиль.”

“What’s that?”

“Freight car,” Sam said, and Steve inhaled sharply but nodded like he knew it was coming.

“My job is to make tomorrow’s world better. Always has been, and I’ll always be a soldier, still I can’t help but think I haven’t done enough for Bucky. Even though we found him, in a way it still feels like seventy years of failure,” Steve admitted. Sam shook his head.

“You didn’t fail him. I don’t believe that for a second. There are days like today that tear our hope down and stomp on it, but even on these days we can fight, so that’s what we’ll do. We will rise and do right by Bucky Barnes because I promised him we would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ride has been interesting and I converted myself to a Bucky fan, though I literally hated him when I began Chapter I. Thank you for managing to get all the way to the end of this story as the chapters got longer and moodier. Comments and criticism are always welcome and so helpful. At any rate, thanks again for reading and I hope you've enjoyed this even a quarter as much as I loved writing it.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism are always appreciated.


End file.
